


East Side Story

by ladymac111



Series: By the Lake [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 1990s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Chicago (City), Friends to Lovers, Green Bay Packers, Johnlock Roulette, Let's Draw Sherlock - Culture Swap, M/M, Milwaukee, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymac111/pseuds/ladymac111
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1991, John Heinrich Watson came home from Operation Desert Storm and picked up his old life in Milwaukee, Wisconsin ... if you could call it a life.  But a chance meeting at the Lakefront led to a visit to the Medical College, where he met a displaced Chicagoan who turned his life upside-down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The East Side

**Author's Note:**

> Rating for swearing, some frank discussion of uncomfortable topics (AIDS, real-life serial killers, serious health conditions in minor characters), tobacco use, and a bit of hand-wavey sexual content.
> 
> There is a glossary and list of locations in the notes at the end of every chapter. People from Milwaukee will probably not need most of it, everyone else probably will. If there is a term you don't understand, check there. If there are terms not in the glossary, please let me know and I will add them. Some terms will be repeated in future chapters, but will not be repeated in the glossary for that chapter. The collected glossary and locations list for the entire story is posted as the second story in this series.
> 
> All named locations can be looked up in Google Maps, and I encourage you to do so if you're not familiar with the area. It's possible that some didn't actually exist in 1991, but I've verified everything I could.
> 
> Milwaukee is the largest city in Wisconsin, 100 miles north of Chicago.
> 
> 4/9/14: Minor edits in all chapters.

April 15, 1991  
Milwaukee, Wisconsin

John pulled into the parking lot at McKinley Marina and chose a spot near the foot path. He turned off the engine and looked out at the lake, which sparkled in the sunlight. It certainly did look inviting. More so than the last few weeks.

His cane helped him out of the car, and he looked north at the path that ran along the lakefront. It was two and a half miles to the UWM campus, along Lincoln Memorial Drive. Plus the same distance back, though that was downhill. Suddenly he felt uncertain, and his leg ached more than usual. _Well, I don't have to go the whole way._ He pulled out his map and pressed it against the car window. To the north end of Bradford Beach and back was just two miles, he could do that. Right?

He re-folded the map and dropped it inside the car; he wouldn't need it. He knew this neighborhood well, he'd spent a lot of time here when he was in med school. His girlfriend Mary had been a grad student at UWM, though they'd lost touch when he left to join the Army. He wondered idly what had become of her.

The breeze off the lake was chilly, and after a couple of minutes he stopped to zip up his jacket. He was gathering his strength to set off again when he heard a familiar voice.

“John! John Watson!”

The rest of the day was a crazy blur. He followed Mike Stamford to the Froedtert campus, where he was struck first by nostalgia and then by the skinny man (a grad student?) in the phlebotomy lab.

“A doctor wounded in the Persian Gulf, very interesting.”

Somehow he agreed to go look at an apartment the next day with the man – Sherlock Holmes, what kind of name was that? – before he disappeared with some strange remark about a riding crop.

The sun was setting when he finally got back to his tiny basement apartment that was almost-but-not-quite in Wauwatosa, and he managed to put a frozen pizza in the oven before he collapsed on the couch to wonder what the hell had happened to him.

 

The apartment where he met Sherlock was above a pastry shop on Brady Street, and he had to circle the block six times to find a parking spot. Sherlock met him on the sidewalk in front of the bakery, and introduced him to their landlady, a sweet woman in her sixties named Mrs. Hojnowski, before taking him up to the second floor of the converted Victorian house. They had only been there twenty minutes when a plainclothes police detective showed up and practically begged for Sherlock to come with him to Franklin Heights to investigate a crime scene.

Twenty-four hours later, John's limp was just a memory, and Sherlock was helping him unload the last of his stuff from his car. Together they carried it the three blocks to their new place. "Is parking always this bad?" John asked.

"I thought you'd know," Sherlock said. "You lived here longer than I have."

"I never had to park in this part of town, and that was years ago. Where's your car?"

"Don't have one."

"How in the world do you not have a car?"

Sherlock grinned at him over the top of the box. "Remember the motorcycle on the street?"

John's eyes widened. "That hog is yours?"

"Just finished paying for it two weeks ago. Property of Sherlock Holmes."

“What do you do in winter?”

“What do you mean, what do I do in winter? I ride it.”

“Even when it's snowing?”

“A little snow doesn't hurt. And the engine keeps you nice and warm.”

"Fair enough. How do you carry stuff around, though?"

"I manage. I don't have a whole lot to carry."

"What about groceries?"

"I get most of what I need from around here. Or I get Mrs. Hojnowski to get it for me."

"So how did you get all your crap into the apartment? Don't tell me you got Mrs. Hojnowski to do that for you."

"No, my brother helped out. It pained me to ask him, but he owed me a favor."

"Where does he live?"

"Chicago."

They turned the corner onto Brady Street. "He came all the way up from Chicago just to help you move?"

"It's even better than that, actually," Sherlock said. "A lot of my stuff was still in our mom's house in River Forest. I had him bring it up."

"You're a jerk!"

"When I want to be. He fucking deserves it."

"Why, what did he do?"

"Story for another time." Sherlock balanced the box on one arm while he fished his key out of his pocket and opened the door. "Let's drop your stuff and have dinner, I'm starving."

They took Sherlock's motorcycle to a small burger joint in West Allis, and John was as terrified as he'd ever been in his civilian life when Sherlock calmly merged onto 94 westbound and took off at eighty miles an hour. When they arrived at the restaurant, he slid off the back of the bike and leaned heavily against it.

Sherlock twisted around. "You okay? You were hanging on pretty tight."

"You didn't warn me you were going to take the freeway!"

"Should I have?"

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock, that was my first time on a bike! You scared me half to death."

Sherlock looked abashed as he pulled his helmet off and ruffled a hand through his curly hair. "Sorry. Surface streets back?"

"If you'd be so kind."

Sherlock gestured at the restaurant as he took John's helmet. "Ever been here before?"

John looked up at the large sign that read _Oscar's_. "Um ... no, don't think so."

"You'd know if you were. What about Kopp's?"

"Heard of it, never been there though. But there's a place by where I used to live called Gilles. Is it like that?"

Sherlock strode confidently to the door and held it open. "This is _so_ much better. You want real food, or skip straight to custard? It's Tuesday so they have two flavors of the day."

Their food appeared quickly, and they took a booth in the part of the dining room that faced the street. Sherlock dug into his dish of custard immediately.

"So," John said around bites of his burger, "last night was pretty exciting."

Sherlock _hmm_ ed in agreement. "It was."

"You do that kind of thing a lot?"

"Some of it. Mostly the crime-solving stuff. The imminent mortal danger is less common."

John chuckled. "Glad to hear it."

"How about you?"

"Come on, you already know everything about me."

"Not _everything_. Only that you got your MD at the Medical College, joined the Army, and got wounded in action in the Persian Gulf. And the stuff about your sister and parents. And psychosomatic limp."

"Okay, you don't have to rub it in. But I bet you can tell where I'm from, by my accent or something."

Sherlock stuck his spoon in the custard and leaned back, scrutinizing him. "Your vowel shift isn't very pronounced, probably because you were overseas with the Army for so long. And since you were a doctor, you were around guys from all over the country, so you picked up the default Saint Louis. But around here, I can hear some Wisconsin. Especially when you're comfortable and talking with people from up north, like Mrs. Hojnowski, it gets stronger. So you're a native Wisconsinite, lived in Milwaukee for a portion of your adult life, but not as a kid, since you've never been here or Kopp's. I noticed a couple of vintage Packers collectibles in your stuff and pictures of you at Lambeau Field, so you could be from Green Bay, but anywhere else in the state is probably equally likely."

"Quit showing off and guess."

"Don't rush me. And ... Oshkosh."

John grinned. "Really close."

Sherlock flopped sideways. "Oh god, it's Appleton, isn't it? That was my second guess."

"Yeah, it's Appleton. My sister and dad both live in Oshkosh now. Dad moved down after Mom died two years ago, to be by Harry."

"Let me at least guess where you did your undergrad."

"You've seen my stuff, you _know_ where I went."

Sherlock smirked. "The old Badger Band sweatshirt is sort of a giveaway. But even if I hadn't seen it, I still would have guessed Madison."

"There you go then," John said. "You know everything about me. Now what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Where are you from? What do you do, why are you in Milwaukee?"

"Take a guess."

John set down his cheeseburger. "Well, since you got me listening for it, I can tell you don't have a Wisconsin accent, though that could be affected. But you drive like a FIB so I'll guess you're from Chicagoland."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "You can tell from my _driving_?"

"And you said your mom lives in River Forest."

"Oh. Right.

"But you do drive like a FIB."

"All right, smartypants. I grew up in River Forest. Where'd I go to college?"

"You're wearing a t-shirt that says UWM on it. So, in town here."

"Oh, so close, but not quite. I got accepted into a grad program there, but dropped out after a year. The shirt's not really mine, either, my ex-boyfriend left it at my old place and I didn't bother to find him and give it back."

John tried not to let his eyes bug out like a cartoon. "An ... an ex- _boyfriend?_ "

Sherlock's gaze turned chilly. "Yes."

"So you're ..."

"Gay, yes. Is that a problem?"

"Um, no, no, it's fine, I just ..."

"I'm not going to try to convert you or anything. In case you were worried." He looked down at his dish of custard and mashed the spoon into the bits that were melting. "You're not my type anyway."

John blushed. "And your type is?"

"Also gay."

After a tense moment Sherlock glanced up, and when their eyes met they both burst out laughing. John was the first to catch his breath. "Nicely played."

"Thanks. So this won't affect us being roommates?"

"No, not at all. I'm glad you told me, it could have gotten awkward otherwise. I might have tried to set you up with a girl."

"How awful." Sherlock gave him a broad, genuine smile. "So we've established I'm gay, and I didn't really go to UWM. So where did I go?"

"I give up, just tell me."

"Come on, John, guess. You've seen how I do it."

"Fine, all right." He watched thoughtfully as Sherlock took another bite of his dessert. "Well, obviously you're from money."

"Obviously?"

"Yeah, just sort of ... the way you are. Plus you said you're from River Forest, which is one of the rich suburbs. And you've gotten away from your family, though not very far. Maybe you went out east and came back? Or maybe you went to a private school around here."

"Guess."

"Okay, um ... Harvard?"

Sherlock laughed. "If only. No, Mom insisted I stay close to home. I did my undergrad at Northwestern."

"That's really close."

"I know. It was awful. That's why I came up here, on the pretense that the University of Chicago wouldn't take me. It's nice here. Close enough that she doesn't call to complain once a week, but far enough away that I only have to see her at Thanksgiving and Christmas."

"You really don't like her, do you?"

Sherlock sighed. "It's ... complicated. Things went downhill after Dad died, when I was in high school, and Mycroft was finishing his PhD at U Chicago. She got really ... I don't know, _weird_. Clingy, controlling. I had to get away but I only made it as far as Milwaukee, and I've been here since '85."

"I guess that explains why you're not in Chicago, then."

"Why would I be in Chicago?"

"Like you would _choose_ Milwaukee. You're a detective, right? All the good stuff is in Chicago, not up here."

"There's good stuff here. Whole serial killer thing going on. Two, actually, counting the one I cracked last night."

"But there'd be more there. More and better." John finished his cheeseburger and sat back. "I am glad you're here, though."

"Oh? Why?"

"I wouldn't have met you otherwise."

Sherlock's face softened. "You hardly know me."

"And already I've killed for you. I imagine you'd do the same."

"I don't have a gun, but yeah, I think I would."

John smiled. "I think there's just one more thing, before I decide if we can be friends."

"Something even more important than killing, wow. What is it?"

"How do you feel about the Bears?"

Sherlock looked puzzled. "What bears?"

"The Chicago Bears. Football team."

"Oh, those Bears. I'm not really into sports."

"Good. I can't be friends with anyone who likes the Bears."

"Die-hard Packers fan?"

"You better believe it."

"I bet you'll make me watch with you."

"I won't _make_ you. But until I joined the Army, I never missed a game, and I don't intend to ever miss one again."

"What if you're working?"

"I've got a VCR."

"What if you forget?"

"I won't." Sherlock opened his mouth, and John held up a finger. "No, really, I _won't_. You're not a fan so you can't understand, but no power in the universe will ever make me miss another Packers game." He got up. "So which flavor's the best?"

"Cherry cheesecake, definitely. I have a calendar at home and I come here every time they have it."

John returned a minute later with a waffle cone, which he was looking at as though it had just threatened him.

"Bigger than you were expecting?" Sherlock said lightly.

"Yeah. How the hell do you stay so skinny, eating like this?"

"Dunno. Just lucky, I guess. And I only come here a couple of times a month."

"You're still young, too. How old are you anyway?"

"Twenty-eight. You?"

"Just turned thirty-three. One of these days your metabolism's going to slow down, and you'll be just another guy with a gut cruising around on your motorcycle, pretending you're still twenty-two."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "A gut? I'd rather die."

"Just wait. I'll be here to say I told you so."

"You may have to wait a long time."

John smiled. "That's okay. It'll be worth it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's bike is a [1990 Harley-Davidson Fatboy FLSTF.](http://ladymac111.tumblr.com/post/55797795079/for-reference-harley-davidson-1990-fatboy-flstf)  
> More on the serial killer in the next chapter.
> 
> GLOSSARY
> 
> 94: Interstate highway 94. It comes up from Chicago, then bends west in Milwaukee and goes on through the suburbs to Madison. The speed limit downtown is 55 MPH and goes up to 65 in the suburbs (so Sherlock is really speeding going 80).
> 
> Badger Band: The marching band at the University of Wisconsin Madison. Highly selective, very competitive, and a source of great pride. They perform at all home football games (except one in 2008), as well as other events. (In this AU, John was on the clarinet line for three seasons, 1976-79. He quit in his senior year to focus on academics.)
> 
> Brady Street: A main street and very fashionable area in the Lower East Side of Milwaukee.
> 
> Chicagoland: A common nickname for the Chicago metropolitan area.
> 
> Custard: Frozen custard. Like ice cream, but with egg yolks so it's even richer and more artery-hardening. Oscar's and Kopp's are small chains in the Milwaukee area. As far as I know Gilles only has the one location near State Fair Park, and there are some other smaller ones but those are the three I grew up with. Culver's has locations across the Midwest. When I was a kid, it was pretty common (every couple of months) for my mom to ask me to call around to all the custard places and find out what their flavor of the day was, and then she'd pick her favorite and we'd go have custard for dinner. My first college roommate was from Chicago, and she'd always stop and get a quart from Kopp's on her way home.
> 
> East Side: A collection of neighborhoods on the east side of Milwaukee, close to the lakefront and UWM. Known for being "fashionable", lots of hippies and hipsters and students and young professionals. Formerly bohemian until it got expensive.
> 
> FIB: Fucking Illinois Bastard. Usually refers to Chicagoans who drive like they own the road.
> 
> Franklin Heights: Working-class neighborhood in far northeast Milwaukee.
> 
> Froedtert: Froedtert Memorial Hospital, a teaching hospital in southwestern Milwaukee. Associated with the Medical College of Wisconsin.
> 
> Hog: Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Acronym for Harley Owners Group, also used to refer to the bike itself. The company is based in Milwaukee.
> 
> The Lake: Lake Michigan, one of the Great Lakes. It is bordered by Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, and Michigan.
> 
> Lambeau Field: The Packers' home stadium, in Green Bay.
> 
> Madison: The University of Wisconsin at Madison (also known as UW Madison or just Wisconsin). Four-year public university in Madison, the state capital. The largest in the system. Their mascot is the Badger.
> 
> McKinley Park/Marina, Bradford Beach, Lincoln Memorial Drive: Landmarks on the Lake Michigan shore, near UWM and the East Side.
> 
> Medical College of Wisconsin: Private medical and life science university in southwestern Milwaukee. MCW is associated with Froedtert Memorial Hospital.
> 
> Northwestern: Northwestern University. Prestigious private university in Evanston, Illinois (a northern suburb of Chicago).
> 
> Packers: The Green Bay Packers professional (American) football team. Beloved in Wisconsin and arch-rivals of the Chicago Bears since 1921. (I'm not even joking about the arch-rivals thing.)
> 
> Persian Gulf: Specifically, the Persian Gulf War, AKA “Operation Desert Storm.” UN military action led by the United States, beginning August 1990.
> 
> River Forest: An affluent northwest suburb of Chicago.
> 
> Up North: Anywhere north of Milwaukee/Madison. Can refer to cities like Green Bay, but more commonly means the rural/small town northern part of the state. Populated by hicks, dairy cows, and rich people with cabins in the summer.
> 
> UWM: The University of Wisconsin at Milwaukee. Four-year public university on the east side of Milwaukee. Not to be confused with the University of Wisconsin at Madison (see “Madison”).
> 
> LOCATIONS
> 
> Milwaukee area:  
> Brady Street  
> Lincoln Memorial Drive/McKinley Marina/Bradford Beach (lakefront)  
> UW-Milwaukee  
> Wauwatosa  
> West Allis
> 
> Elsewhere in Wisconsin:  
> Appleton  
> Green Bay  
> Oshkosh
> 
> Chicago area:  
> River Forest


	2. Heat Wave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MINOR WARNING: There is brief mention in this chapter of real-life serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer. I don't go into any detail about his crimes but if you follow the link in the glossary, you can read about them and they are properly gruesome.

July 18, 1991

John trudged up the stairs to the apartment, glad that he'd only worked a half day at the hospital. They had air conditioning there, so at least he hadn't been sweating, but he was getting sick of seeing case after case of heat exhaustion and prescribing water and ice packs. You'd think people would have it figured out by now. With temperatures near a hundred and the heat index even higher, he wondered how anyone could think it was a good idea to be out doing stuff in this weather. Just walking was like being drowned, and it was even worse away from the lake.

The upstairs door was open, and when he stepped inside he saw Sherlock's bare legs poking up over the back of the sofa. He loosened his tie as he moved into the stifling room and saw the rest of the man draped upside-down over the front of the couch, wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a scowl. Three fans were blowing on him, and John turned one to point at himself as he pulled up one of their kitchen chairs.

"Hey."

"Hi."

"How's it going?"

"It's _hot_."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"Ha fucking ha."

"Wow, you really turn into an asshole when it's hot."

"It's been hot since fucking _May._ I'm sick of the heat. And the damn _humidity_." He shifted on the couch, inching his damp curls closer to the floor. "Why can't we get an air conditioner?"

"For a whole load of reasons that I'm sure you're not interested in hearing. Again." John sighed. "Why are you upside down, anyway?"

Sherlock shrugged, which made him slide even lower. “It's this serial killer case. The police won't listen to me and at this rate he's going to kill again before they catch him.”

“Sherlock, you have no evidence that it's Jeffrey Dahmer.”

“There's absolutely no way that boy was Dahmer's boyfriend, and by now he's dead. And those idiot officers didn't bother to look into it when they had the chance, we could have had him in May. It's so _obvious_ but with all the damn red tape they won't move on it.”

“Can't you … I don't know, do something risky and stupid?”

“Heh. You know I'd love to, but he's too clever.”

“So you're just waiting for him to kill again?”

“We need Dahmer to make a move, to leave himself open. Then we'll have him.”

“How are you going to make sure you get him this time? You've been on this case for weeks.”

“I've been on this case since 1987, John. I know him now. I know his MO, the type of man he targets. And I know he's been getting sloppy since that kid in May.”

“So what's the plan?”

“I haven't been idle, despite appearances to the contrary. He finds his victims at gay bars. I have a reputation, and I've been talking to the guys. They know what to look out for, and what to do when they find him. Some of them have even met him.”

“Sounds like you have it pretty well in hand.”

“Hmm.”

“It also explains where you've been at night recently.”

“You're not my mother.” He wiped at the sweat that was dripping into his eye. “But I can't sleep in the day when it's this hot.”

"We could go to a movie. Enjoy their air conditioning, forget about the serial killer thing for a while."

"But then I'd have to _move_."

" _Terminator 2_ just came out. Would you watch that?"

"I guess."

John rolled his eyes as he picked up the _Journal_ and paged through. "Looks like the Downer has a show in an hour and a half. Want to go?"

"Sure."

"You'll have to put on pants. And a shirt."

"Ugh."

"Come on, Sherlock. It's at least ten degrees hotter in here than it is outside, you should go out."

"Later."

"Fine, whatever. I'm going to take a shower."

"Think of me fondly."

Sherlock's rumbled words floated through the humid air into John's room, and he chuckled as he pulled off his work clothes. "You're still listening to that CD, huh?"

"Of course. _The Phantom of the Opera_ is a modern masterpiece. Well. Parts of it."

There was a _thump_ as Sherlock removed himself from the couch by what was probably the most uncomfortable method. John had a little moment of panic when he thought about dashing over and closing his bedroom door, but he was just in his underwear. Sherlock had seen it before, and he'd seen quite a bit more than that of Sherlock, who apparently totally lacked any sense of modesty. John considered it a success that he was actually obeying the "underwear must be worn at all times unless you're in your bedroom or the bathroom with the door closed" rule that they'd agreed upon during May's heat wave.

The sound of Sherlock tuning his violin followed John into the bathroom. The shower didn't quite drown out the melody of "All I Ask of You."

 

They took John's car to the theater, since neither of them could bear to put on the long pants that were required for the Harley, and walking was definitely not an option. Sherlock immediately turned the AC up as high as it could go, though it took most of the five-minute drive to get cold.

The theater was mostly empty when they arrived, so they took seats in the center of the back row. By the time the previews started, Sherlock had begun to shiver.

John leaned over. "Cold?"

"Yeah. I forgot that air conditioning does that."

"You gonna be okay?"

He snorted. "I'll live."

John allowed himself a fond smile in the darkness. "Good."

Half an hour later, Sherlock was curled into a ball in his seat and radiating grouchiness. John was finding it hard to concentrate on the movie – not that it needed much – and wondered when exactly he'd become so tuned into Sherlock's emotional state.

He made up his mind. “Here.”

“What?”

“I think these arm rests go up. Yeah, sure enough.” The barrier between them disappeared easily. “Scoot over. I've got some warmth to spare.”

Sherlock's eyes were uncertain. “Really?”

John swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah. Come here.” He put his arm around Sherlock's shoulders, and the other man snuggled into his side with an obvious release of tension. “Better?”

“Yes.” There was an odd quality to Sherlock's voice that John couldn't quite figure out. “Thank you.”

“Sure thing.”

They watched the movie in silence, slowly finishing John's popcorn. After an hour, Sherlock shifted and sat up.

“Uncomfortable?”

“Well.” Sherlock rubbed his lower lip in a way John had learned to associate with awkwardness. “Actually, if I'm totally honest … a little too comfortable.”

“What do you mean?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, I'm sorry. This is a terrible time for this, we're watching a movie.”

“It's a stupid movie.”

Sherlock laughed a little too loudly, then glanced at John nervously. “It is pretty dumb.”

“I expected you to complain about it. What's going on? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it's just … I ...” He blew out a gusty sigh. “It's kind of … not good.”

“Sherlock, I really have no idea what you're talking about. Just tell me.”

“It's _you_. You and me, this … this thing, here. We're out at a movie together, and you … you're acting like … with your arm and everything.”

“You were cold.”

“Yes, but John, when's the last time you put your arm around someone at a movie? On a date, right?”

John's heart skipped a beat. “Oh.”

“This evening has been feeling like a date to me. And I promised I wouldn't … do this to you.”

“Do this? What's _this_?”

Sherlock waved his hand. “You know, this. Fall in … stuff. You're straight and I respect that.”

John stared at him, the movie entirely forgotten. “Were you about to say you fell in love?”

“No. It wasn't on purpose.”

John's head was spinning. “Stop, just stop.”

Sherlock looked like he was debating whether to run away, but he stopped talking.

John took a few deep breaths, though his lightheadedness didn't go away completely. “I guess … I did sort of … know.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“No, really, shut up. Don't be sorry, Sherlock. You can't help it. I can't help it either.”

Sherlock's eyes widened. “If you're screwing with me, I'm leaving right now.”

“I'm really not screwing with you.”

“Then stop beating around the bush and say at already.”

“You want _me_ to be the first to say it?”

“Fine, never mind. Just forget it.” He crossed his arms and slumped into his seat.

“Sherlock.”

“I'm watching the movie.”

“You … you impossible bastard.” John didn't allow himself time to think. He slid one hand around the back of Sherlock's neck and pulled him into a kiss that was far more _scorching_ than he expected.

Sherlock was panting when they broke apart. “But ...”

“I know; I'm not gay.”

“But you ...”

“Clearly. You're a genius, I'm sure you can figure it out.”

“Honestly, I don't care that much right now.” He leaned in and kissed John again, but stopped abruptly. “For the love of god, stop me if you don't want this.”

“Trust me, you'll know if I don't want this. And right now I want this more than I've ever wanted anything.”

Sherlock almost looked like he was on the verge of tears, but leaned back in. “I've wanted you for so long.”

“I thought I wasn't … wasn't your type,” John managed between kisses.

“I've never been so happy to be wrong.”

They totally ignored the rest of the movie in favor of exploring one another's mouths and bodies. John jumped when Sherlock's hand wandered to his crotch, and batted it away with a whispered “Later.”

“Nobody's watching.”

“We're in public, and I have a feeling things would get nasty very fast if we got caught.”

“Fine. Later it is.”

Later came soon enough. The sun had set by the time the movie got out, and the temperature had dipped into the eighties, though the humidity was still oppressively high. “Want to go out for dinner?” John asked.

“How about that Greek cafe down the block from our house, Apollo? I think they have AC, and they're open until two tonight.”

John grinned at him as he unlocked the car. “Sounds great. I could go for some souvlaki.”

“Speaking of things that you could go for. What you said before, did you mean it?”

The car roared to life, and he turned the air conditioner on. “What did I say before?”

“About … later.”

John blushed as much as he could in the already-hot environment. “Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I've never done anything like that before, but I'm up for trying it. With you.”

Sherlock smiled a broad, crooked grin that made John's blood sing. “We can take it slow. I'll teach you.” He started to lean in, but John held him back with a hand on his chest.

“Hang on a sec.”

“What, what is it?”

“I just … I want to make sure we're not ruining our friendship with this.”

“I think it's a little too late to go back now.”

“No, it isn't. After we've slept together, then it'll be too late.”

Sherlock stilled. “Do you think you'll regret it?”

“No.” John shook his head. “No, I … I'm actually kind of surprised by how right it feels.”

“And how long have you felt this way?”

“I really don't know. A month? Two? It wasn't right away, but it wasn't all of a sudden either.” He looked at Sherlock. “How long have you … wanted me?”

“Since the first time I laid eyes on you. No, wait, that sounds wrong.” He leaned against the window and stared out. “It wasn't really physical at first. I mean, you're handsome, but I didn't want to jump your bones when you showed up in the lab at the Medical College. It was more like I felt a connection to you. It took me a while but I figured out that that feeling was … love.” He glanced at John, who was watching in silent awe. “Once I realized that, it was all downhill. I was a goner.”

“I thought I was imagining it. When I caught you looking at me.”

“You weren't imagining it. I was – I _am_ – totally head over heels, and it's ridiculous and stupid but I think I like it.”

“So romantic.”

“It is a little scary, though. I've never felt like this before.”

“Never? Not with your previous boyfriends?”

“Never this strongly, not by a long shot.” He hesitated, mulling over the rest of John's words. “Previous? So you're … you're saying you're my boyfriend now.”

“Oh. Uh. Yeah, I guess I did say that.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Sherlock, I'm thirty-three years old. My only complaint is that I think I'm a little too old to be someone's _boyfriend_.”

“So what are we, then?”

John sighed and put the car in gear. “I'd really rather save the linguistics discussion for sometime when we've been together longer than an hour. It's time for the dinner part of our first date, and after that I'm hoping to find out exactly how fantastic you are in bed.”

Sherlock couldn't contain his laugh of delight. “As long as it's not too hot in the apartment.”

 

They made it home two hours later, and it was still hot, but after enduring Sherlock's flirting through their meal John was desperate to take his clothes off for a reason unrelated to the weather. They stumbled into Sherlock's bedroom, and John was crushed into the mattress by demanding kisses before he even kicked his sandals off. They did eventually undress, and then John was perched on the edge of the bed and Sherlock was on his knees doing things with his tongue that made John temporarily forget that they had neighbors whose windows were also open.

An indeterminate time later, they were both laying across the bed, still naked as the sweat evaporated off their bodies. “So how was it?” Sherlock asked softly.

“Unbelievable,” John said. “Thank you, it was … it was amazing. I'm just sorry I couldn't … give you a hand.”

“It's all right, I managed just fine by myself.” He coughed nervously. “I don't have any condoms right now anyway, so it's better if … you know. To keep things separate. Just in case.”

John turned his head to look at him in the dark. “You've been tested, though?”

Sherlock nodded. “Had a little scare, actually, in '89. Victor's ex got in touch and told us he had AIDS.”

“Shit. Is he okay? Is he doing all right?”

“Um … no. It had gotten pretty bad by the time he finally got treatment. You might actually have seen him, he was admitted to Froedtert two weeks ago.”

John's chest tightened. “He's dying?”

“Yeah. He doesn't have long now. That's why I haven't been going there lately. I can't … I can't.” He paused and controlled his breath. “It might have been me.”

“But it's not you, you're okay?”

“Yeah. Me and Vic, we went and got tested together. Both negative.”

“Thank god for that.”

“We were lucky.”

“Victor's the one you stole the UWM shirt from?”

“Yeah.” Sherlock rolled onto his side. "You probably don't want to hear this, but I was pretty stupid with Victor. I thought I was in love and we weren't very careful. He was my first, but we were only together six months before the HIV thing and then we broke up.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I was young and stupid. We weren't good for each other.” He touched the scar on John's shoulder. “Besides, it's all part of the series of events that brought me to you.”

“In that case.” John pulled him down into a kiss. “It's all fine. Thank you for being honest with me.”

“You're welcome. And don't feel that you need to tell me about your history.”

“You've already deduced it all, haven't you?”

“Yeah.”

“Thought so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The details of the Jeffrey Dahmer case are based on my reading of the Wikipedia article, since I don't remember it myself, so there may be errors. Sherlock's involvement is entirely fictional, of course.
> 
> GLOSSARY
> 
> Dahmer, Jeffrey: Serial killer and sex offender. He raped, murdered, and dismembered 16 men and boys in Milwaukee between 1987 and 1991. Dahmer was apprehended on July 22, 1991, three days after this chapter takes place. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeffrey_Dahmer
> 
> The Downer Theater: A movie theater on the Upper East Side, built in 1915 and renovated and reopened by Landmark in 1990.
> 
> The Journal: The Milwaukee Journal, Milwaukee's afternoon newspaper until it merged with the morning Sentinel in 1995.


	3. Thanksgiving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original (ish) characters in this chapter: Sherlock's mother is Violetta Wojciehowski Holmes, and her younger sister (Sherlock's aunt) is Kasia (KA-sha). They are of Polish descent, which is very common in Chicago. Sherlock's father was Sherrinford Holmes, called Ford.
> 
> Sherlock commits a little casual blasphemy in this chapter. May not be appropriate for super serious Catholics.
> 
> Please note this story was written before series three.

November 5, 1991

There were three new messages on the answering machine when John got home from work, and he leveled a meaningful look at Sherlock, who was poring through the World Book at the kitchen table. “Couldn't be bothered to answer the phone today?”

“It's my brother. He wants me to go home for Thanksgiving.”

“How did you know it's him? We don't have caller ID.”

“I just know. And I heard him leaving the messages.”

“Fine, whatever.” John went to the machine and pressed the button to play them back. Sherlock got up with a huff, went into his bedroom, and slammed the door.

 

The next morning they were having coffee when the phone rang. “Don't pick that up,” Sherlock said.

“What? Why? It might be Froedtert. Or the police, with something for you.”

“It's not. It's my brother.”

“How the hell do you know this stuff?”

“I just _do_ , okay? If I'm wrong you can pick it up when it goes to the message.”

The machine picked up after the fifth ring, and John cringed at their greeting. “This is eight-four-one eleven seventy-six,” said Sherlock's disembodied voice. “Don't be boring.” _Beep_.

“Sherlock, it's Mycroft. You can't avoid me forever.”

John shot a glare at Sherlock before he got up to retrieve the phone and turn off the recorder. “Hi, Mycroft, it's John. Sorry he's being such a baby about this. Want me to put him on?” He held out the phone, stretching the cord across the kitchen. “It's for you.”

“I don't want to.”

“Take the fucking phone.”

Sherlock slouched down in his chair. “You can't make me.”

“What if I told Mrs. Hojnowski the real reason her tomato plants died?”

“Fine.” He grabbed the handset, and John escaped to start the shower. Sherlock was going to be extremely unpleasant for at least half an hour.

“I'm not going to drive all the way to Chicago on a motorcycle in November.”

“You don't have to. Doesn't your boyfriend have a car? Bring him along.”

“He isn't my boyfriend!”

“Whatever you're calling him, then.”

“He's just my roommate.”

“Your roommate who you've been sleeping with since July. Don't lie to me, Sherlock.”

“That doesn't matter, anyway. He'll probably go up by his sister and dad in Oshkosh. That's a hundred miles in the wrong direction.”

“I'm sure they can work something out. Maybe the two of you go up there for Christmas.”

“He's not out to his family.”

“Neither are you, but that doesn't have to get in the way. You're just roommates, right? Roommates who only have one car between you.”

“I'm still not going to do it. I'm staying here.”

“Please, Sherlock, do it for Mom. She misses you terribly, and it would mean so much to her if you brought a friend along.”

Sherlock sighed melodramatically. “I'll talk to John. Happy?"

“Yes, thank you. Call Mom as soon as you can to let her know you're coming.”

“I'll call when I get a chance.”

“No, Sherlock, call as soon as you know. She's really insistent about this.”

“I'll do what I want.”

“No, you'll do as I say. Unless you want Mom to know that her baby is a member of the two demographics that are at the highest risk of catching HIV.”

“You wouldn't _dare_.”

“Don't push me.”

“That's below the belt.”

“I know it is. Good double entendre, by the way.”

“Fuck off!” He got up and slammed the receiver back in the cradle, and spent a long minute staring at the phone, breathing hard as he tried to control his anger.

 

November 27, 1991

They stopped at a gas station for coffee not long after they crossed the border into Illinois, and Sherlock took over driving. He slid the seat back, then eased the old car into gear and rolled back onto 94.

“Anything else I should know about your family?” John asked.

“Just whatever you do, don't let on that we're together. We're just friends, and you coming along was a condition of me using your car.”

“But your brother already knows.”

“Yes, but I don't want to give him the satisfaction of actually seeing it.”

“So we won't have any time together.”

“I'm afraid not. Not worth the risk.”

“So … sleeping arrangements?”

“She'll put you up in Mycroft's old room. It's right next to mine but we'll have to keep apart.”

“It's going to be hard sleeping alone.”

Sherlock glanced at him. “I know.”

“Will anyone else be there tomorrow? Or will it just be the four of us?”

“Aunt Kasia's coming, but Uncle Pete is out of town fucking his secretary and fooling nobody. So we'll be five.”

“Aunt Kasia?”

“Mom's younger sister. They don't really like each other, but they're family, so they get together anyway out of some weird sense of obligation. It really makes no sense to me at all.”

“Some people care about their families.”

“Some people are crazy. Anyway, I don't know what you're used to, but it'll probably be a pretty small dinner, and we eat early, then sit around pretending we don't hate each other.”

“You don't watch football?”

Sherlock scoffed. “You know me. Either of your teams playing?”

“No. The Packers just played on Sunday, and the Badgers are done for the season.”

“That's right, they were by County Stadium this week. How was it?”

“Pretty good. Cold, mostly. And not as much fun when I'm alone.”

“Wasn't your dad there?”

“Yeah, he and Harry both came down, but they were in a different section.”

“Where'd you sit?”

“Left field. About as far away as you can get. But I was lucky to get in at all.” He took a drink of his coffee, and made a face. “This is terrible.”

“It's hot and caffeinated, that's good enough for me.”

“Then you can have mine if you want.”

 

Thanksgiving Day dawned bright and cold. Sherlock took him on a long walk through the neighborhood to avoid his family arriving, and practically ran upstairs as soon as they got back.

Violetta poked her head out into the entryway while John was still taking his coat off. She was a petite woman in her seventies, well-dressed with dark auburn hair that Sherlock had assured him had not been its natural color in decades. “Was that my boy running up the stairs like a herd of elephants?”

“Yeah.” John rubbed his hands together vigorously. “I think he's desperate for a hot shower. It's pretty cold out there.”

“His whole life it's been a battle to get him to bundle up in the winter. Come and have some coffee, John, and meet my sister Kasia.”

John didn't see any way to avoid it, so he went, and put on his pleasant face. Kasia and Violetta were terrifyingly passive-aggressive to one another, but nice enough to him. He told them the story of how he met Sherlock, since apparently the other man hadn't breathed a word, and talked about some of their cases, hopefully in little enough detail that Sherlock wouldn't have to deal with his mother flipping out about the danger.

“It's so nice of you to come all the way down here with him,” Violetta said. “He's never been good at making friends.”

“I'm not either,” John said. “We're kind of well-matched that way.”

Kasia raised her perfectly-groomed eyebrows, but Violetta seemed oblivious to the suggestion and continued. “It's just so sweet of you to give up your holidays with your family so that he can be with his.”

“Oh. Um. I guess he didn't tell you?”

“Didn't tell me what?”

Kasia smirked, and John cleared his throat awkwardly. “That we're going by my sister and Dad up north for Christmas. We had to compromise.”

Violetta pursed her lips, and John drew back. “He did _not_ tell me that.” She put down her coffee cup with delicate restraint, and walked up the stairs.

A moment later there was a loud, undignified squeak, and then the muffled sound of arguing voices.

“More coffee, John?” Kasia asked as she got up.

“Oh, sure. Thanks.”

She pulled a flask out of her purse. “Want a little courage in it?”

“God, yes please. I'm going to need it.”

She poured whiskey into the bottom of each mug before she topped them up with coffee and creamer, then came back to the table. “I feel so bad for Sherlock. He's a good kid, but he's just terminally stupid when it comes to dealing with his mother.”

“Has it always been that way?”

“Not always, no. I mean, they always clashed, ever since he was little. But they had their big falling-out when his father passed away. Has he told you about that?”

“Not really, no.”

“It was this whole big thing. She blamed him for it, of course.”

“I'm not sure you should be telling me this.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “You'll find out sooner or later, and it's better that you have some context while you're here. Anyway, Sherlock was in junior high when he found out his dad was having an affair and exposed it. It was this huge thing. That was about the time he stopped going to church, too. The stress seemed to trigger Ford's health problems. He had his first heart attack not long after that, and then the second in '80 was the end of it.”

“And she blames Sherlock?”

“Oh, yeah. Vi was convinced that her husband could do no wrong, and that Sherlock had screwed it up and was ruining the family. The worst part was right before he started college, when he said he'd worked out that Ford wasn't even his real father.”

John boggled. “Wasn't he?”

She shrugged. “We may never know. Vi insists it's a lie that Sherlock made up because he doesn't feel loved, and Mycroft just refuses to get involved. They've mostly forgotten it now, so they're back to butting heads the normal way. I'd really prefer it if they weren't speaking.”

A door slammed upstairs, and they both jumped. “Jesus,” John breathed.

Kasia crossed herself, and John mumbled an apology as Violetta came back down the stairs. “Sorry about that,” she said. “Where were we?”

“John was telling us about holidays with his family,” Kasia said smoothly.

“Oh, of course. What does your family do for Thanksgiving, John?”

“Um, well. When I was a kid, we'd always go by my grandparents, and there would be at least twenty people. But these days it's mostly just me and my dad and my sister, and we watch football. When I was twelve, my dad actually took me to Dallas to see the Packers play.”

“Oh, that's right, you're a Packers fan, aren't you? What time is the game today?”

“They're not playing today. Actually they were in Milwaukee on Sunday, and I went to the game. Met my dad and sister there.”

“Did Sherlock go with you?”

“No, he doesn't like sports.”

Violetta sighed. “I wish he was more normal. Women don't like a man who works all the time, especially one who's obsessed with crime.”

“Do you have a girlfriend, John?” Kasia asked, with a wicked twinkle in her eye.

“Sort of.” He took a drink of coffee so he wouldn't panic.

Violetta looked confused. “Sort of?”

“Yeah. She's, uh. Not really my girlfriend, I guess. You know, nothing to write home about.”

“I bet you've left a trail of broken hearts, handsome guy like you,” Violetta said. “Maybe you could set one of them up with my son. It might settle him down.”

John smiled awkwardly. “I'll give it a try.”

 

Mycroft arrived just in time for dinner, and it was every bit as awkward as John had feared. Sherlock ate quickly and said little, then excused himself. John lasted a little longer; the food was actually really good, and it was Thanksgiving, right? He enjoyed seconds of turkey and potatoes before he went in search of Sherlock.

He found him smoking a cigarette in the back yard, looking cold and forlorn. He was sitting on a stone bench between two small concrete statues with flaking paint, tapping his ashes off onto the mostly blue one. John shivered as he walked across the crunchy grass. “What are those things?”

“BVM.”

“What?”

“ _Beata Virgo Maria_. We painted them at VBS one summer.”

“That sounds a lot better than what we did when I was a kid. Much less fire and brimstone.”

“You grew up Wisconsin Synod, right?”

“Yeah, my dad's parents insisted. Grandma would have blown a gasket if she knew I was dating a Catholic. Even a non-practicing one.” He paused. “Actually I think non-practicing might even be worse.”

“What about the whole thing where you're living in sin with another man?”

“I have no doubt that she's rolling in her grave.” John inspected the statue that didn't have cigarette ash on her head. “Why does this one have an eye patch?”

Sherlock chuckled. “That one's mine. I was really into pirates when I was little.”

He put out his cigarette butt on the blue statue's head, and John sat on the bench beside him. “Maybe I'll take you up to Gitche Gumee sometime and go to a maritime history museum.”

“Gitche what?”

“Lake Superior. It's the Indian name for it.”

“Why in the world do you know something like that?”

“There was a Gordon Lightfoot song.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.”

Sherlock looked at the house. “Think it's safe to go back in? I can only smoke so many cigarettes.”

“How many have you had?”

“Just two.”

John frowned. “Two too many, if you ask me.”

“I didn't.” Sherlock stood up and pulled the slightly crushed pack out of his back pocket. “Here. You can throw them away if you want.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He got up and dropped them in the dumpster by the garage. “I think we could go for one more walk before we go back in, while there's still light.”

Sherlock smiled at him. “There's a park about a quarter mile away. I used to play there when I was a kid.”

“Sounds good. Let's go get our coats and we can go.”

“I'm not going back in there.”

“You can't go walking in this weather dressed like that.”

Sherlock made his best _don't be stupid_ face. “You can get it for me. And tell them to wait to have pie until we get back.”

John was about to argue, but decided it wasn't worth it. “All right, fine. If it'll keep you from stirring up shit with them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GLOSSARY
> 
> Beata Virgo Maria: Latin, “Blessed Virgin Mary.” She is venerated as the Mother of God and the Mother of the Church in Roman Catholicism. Some Protestant Christians consider this practice heretical.
> 
> County Stadium: Milwaukee County Stadium. Home of the Brewers baseball team, and the Packers sometimes played there. It was replaced by Miller Park in 2000, after which the Packers played all home games at Lambeau Field in Green Bay.
> 
> Gitche Gumee: A version of the Ojibwe word for Lake Superior, “gichigami,” meaning “big water.” Used in “The Song of Hiawatha” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” by Gordon Lightfoot.
> 
> Lake Superior: The largest and northernmost of the Great Lakes. It is bordered by Wisconsin, Michigan, Minnesota, and Ontario, Canada.
> 
> VBS: Vacation Bible school. Sort of like summer camp at church. Many churches hold them for one or two weeks in the summer, and elementary-age kids go during the day and do stuff like music and crafts and skits that are all Bible-themed.
> 
> Wisconsin Synod: The Wisconsin Evangelical Lutheran Synod. A very conservative Lutheran denomination, especially known for treating the Bible as infallible and interpreting it literally.


	4. Christmas

December 25, 1991

Once Harry had a cup of coffee in hand, she could figure out what had seemed odd in the living room. The pillows and blanket were folded neatly on the sofa, and Sherlock wasn't there. Maybe he'd gone out for an early-morning walk? Who knew, he was a strange guy. He'd probably drive her insane if they lived together. John did always seem to attract weird people.

But it was Christmas morning, and Christmas morning meant that John needed to be presentable when Dad arrived for breakfast, no matter what his weird friend was up to.

She went down the hall to the guest bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and she knocked gently. “John? Are you awake?” She popped her head in. “Merry – oh my god.”

“Harry? Wha--” She saw the exact moment when John realized his circumstances. “Oh.”

Beside him, Sherlock rolled over and pulled the quilt over his head with a deep grumble.

Both Watsons stared at him, then at each other. “Harry, I--”

“You lying piece of shit!” She opened the door all the way and stepped into the room. “You said you weren't together!”

“I can explain, we--”

“John, just shut up.” She ran a hand through her hair. “There's coffee in the kitchen. Come on, we've got about an hour before I told Dad I'd go pick him up, and I think you and me need to have a talk before that.”

She left the room, and John took a moment to compose himself before he got up and put his robe on over his pajamas. “You want coffee?”

“It's too early,” Sherlock complained.

“You need to get up. I'll bring you a cup in here if you want, but you have to be dressed when my dad gets here at ten.”

“Fine, okay. Bring me coffee and I'll have a shower.”

He had his eyes open when John returned with a steaming mug, and gave him a kiss before he went off to the shower and John returned to the kitchen. Harry pushed a cup of coffee across the table towards him, and he sat down.

“So,” she said. “How long have you been gay?”

“I'm not gay.”

“At the risk of sounding like I'm just being contrary, you are definitely gay.”

“I'm not, though. It's more complicated than that.”

“You're sleeping with a man, John. How much more complicated can it be?”

“ _He's_ gay.” John paused to drink some coffee and collect himself. “I'm … I'm in love with him. And yeah, we sleep together. But he's the only man I've ever felt that way about. I still like women. He's ... I don't know. He's Sherlock and I'm out of my mind in love with him."

"So what, is he, like, your exception or something?”

“That's stupid, Harry.”

She sighed. “I know it seems like I'm just being nosy about this.”

“You _are_ just being nosy.”

“Now it's my turn to say it's more complicated than that. I'm … jealous.”

John set down his mug. “You met him yesterday, don't tell me you're in love with him.”

Harry laughed. “Oh god, no way, that couldn't be more wrong. No, that obnoxious bastard's all yours.”

“So what are you jealous of?”

“Of you. Of your whole life. That you can have this relationship and be out and everything.”

John shook his head. “We're not out. His brother is the only one in his family who knows.”

“But look at you. You live in Milwaukee, where nobody will scream at you if you walk down the street holding hands with the person you love. You don't have to worry about a coworker seeing you because they'd tell your boss and you'd get fired.”

Realization struck. “You're a lesbian?”

“I … yeah. To put it bluntly.”

“How long?”

“I knew when I was fourteen.”

John's mouth fell open. “How come you never told me?”

She shrugged. “I thought you wouldn't understand.”

“Of course I understand!”

“But remember Uncle Lars? Oma completely flipped her shit and nobody's heard from him since.”

“That was twenty years ago. Oma's not around any more.”

“Obviously I know that. But you, and Dad, and everybody. They wouldn't understand. Well, I guess you would. Which is why I'm telling you.”

“You really think you could lose your job?”

“We're a 'family business.'” She made finger quotes. “It wouldn't do to have a lesbian running payroll, she might … I don't even know. They'd come up with something awful.”

“Why do you stay here? Why don't you move by me?”

“I have a life here, even if it's one where I'm locked in the closet. It's a good job, and I have friends, and I look out for Dad. And the Packers are close by.”

“Those are all good reasons, I guess.”

“I think so.”

“So, have you … have you ever had a girlfriend?”

“Not since college. Though there is … someone.”

“Oh? What's her name?”

“Clara. She's the head administrative assistant in hiring. She … when we go out together, she flirts with me.”

“But she's not your girlfriend?”

Harry grimaced. “She's married.”

“Oh god. I'm sorry.”

“Anyway, back to my original question. You and Sherlock. How long have you been together?”

“Oh, yeah. You remember all the Jeffrey Dahmer stuff last July?”

“Yeah. Wasn't he working on that?”

“He was. We got together just as the shit hit the fan. That's when he's happiest, when a really interesting case finally comes together.”

“Was it a sudden thing?”

“No, he'd been working on it on and off for years.”

She smiled. “I meant the two of you.”

“Oh. Well. Sort of. But also not really. Us both admitting our feelings was kind of an accident, but the feelings had been there for a while.”

“So you already knew you were in love with him when it started, you weren't just giving it a try.”

“Yeah, no. I'd had a thing for him for a couple of months, and I didn't bother trying to deny it, for whatever reason.”

“Was it because you knew how I felt about you?”

They both turned as Sherlock came into the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a sweater with his hair still damp. John smiled at him. “I think maybe it was.”

Sherlock kissed his temple, and John's heart fluttered happily. “So why didn't you make the first move?” He went to refill his coffee cup.

“I don't know. Maybe I was waiting to make sure it was real.”

Harry rolled her eyes. “You guys are way too cute.”

John grinned. “Have to get it out before Dad gets here. He'd have a stroke. Probably literally.” He grimaced. “He's still smoking?”

“He actually stepped it up after that embolism in October. Two packs a day now.”

“Fucking idiot. You see, Sherlock? This is why I throw your cigarettes away whenever I find them.”

“I quit, remember? I haven't had one in a month.”

John rolled his eyes. “You've quit three times since I met you.”

Harry got up. “I'm going to go have a shower while you guys fight about this.”

“It's not a fight,” Sherlock said, and took the vacated seat. When she was out of earshot, he leaned close to John. “I want to suck your cock.”

John almost spit out his mouthful of coffee. “What?!”

“Come on, let me, please? While she's in the shower. You'll be a lot more pleasant if you've had an orgasm.”

“No! I'm not going to let you blow me in my sister's house.”

Sherlock pouted. “Why not?”

“Would you want to have sex at your brother's?”

“I'd want to do it in the middle of the kitchen floor and hope he walked in on it.”

“Okay, false equivalence. But still, no!”

“Please, John.” He lowered his voice. “I was _so_ turned on when I woke up this morning.” He scooted close and nuzzled the side of John's neck. “If we don't, I'll be thinking about it _all day_.”

John turned and kissed him, hard and demanding. “Yeah, fine, okay.” He stood up, and didn't try to hide his arousal. “Just try to be quiet?”

Sherlock grinned crookedly. “No promises.”

 

“Dad, don't smoke in my house.”

“You're going to make me smoke outside?”

John caught Sherlock eyeing the cigarette hungrily, and stepped in. “Come on, Dad, it's not that cold. And Sherlock's just quit, we don't want him getting it secondhand.”

“He's a grown man, I think he can look out for himself. You're not his wife, Johnny.”

John tried extremely hard not to blush, and was rescued when Sherlock seemed to snap back to the present. “Tell you what, Mr. Watson, I'll come outside and keep you company. Let John and Harry have some sibling … whatever.”

Robert smiled at him. “Aren't you considerate. Harriet, why can't you find a nice husband like Sherlock?”

Harry rolled her eyes while her father and Sherlock pulled on their coats. “He's not exactly my type.”

“She says that about every nice guy she meets,” Robert complained as they went out onto the front porch. He brushed the snow off the top step, and Sherlock perched lightly on the railing. “I don't think that girl knows what her type is.”

“Women are a mystery to me,” Sherlock said, and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets to stop them itching for a cigarette. He inhaled deeply and pretended the icy bite was nicotine.

“Yeah, but you're still young. You've got time yet. Not like those two. Sometimes I don't think I'll ever have grandchildren.”

“My mother keeps saying the same thing.”

“You got any siblings?”

“An older brother. He's single too. Married to his work, he says.”

“Ha. I think we both know what that's code for.”

Sherlock tensed, but it seemed that more on the topic wasn't forthcoming. He let himself relax minutely.

“Well, it's nice that you and John found each other, at least. He was in pretty rough shape when he got back from the war, like he was depressed. But he perked up when he met you. You're good for him.” Robert took a long drag on the cigarette, then blew the smoke out slowly. Sherlock tried not to lean over and inhale it. “If he can't settle down with a nice woman, I'm at least glad he's got a friend like you.”

Sherlock blinked at him. “Thank you, that's … that's very flattering.” He paused to consider his next words. “I'm fortunate to have a friend like him, too. I was really lonely before. I just had my work, which was good, but he came along and everything just got better. He helps me a lot.”

“He never shuts up about your work,” Robert laughed, but it devolved into a hacking cough.

Sherlock watched until he caught his breath. “You okay?”

“John says these things are killing me.”

“He's right.”

“That why you quit?”

“Yeah. But mostly because John destroyed my experiments every time he smelled smoke on me or found a pack in the apartment.”

“That's my boy. Always trying to save the world.”

“You should have seen him when he found out I used to do cocaine. I actually feared for my life.”

“Cocaine? Shit, no wonder you're so skinny.”

“I had a rough couple of years after I graduated from college. Moved to Milwaukee, dropped out of grad school, got into drugs.”

“You're clean now, though?”

“Yeah, since '87. But I started smoking when I got rid of the coke, and it's been hard to quit.”

“Tell me about it. Addiction's a bitch, and it runs in the family. Alcoholism killed my dad. I hope you're keeping an eye on John.”

“I am, and he's good, he's very careful.”

“That's good. He's a good kid, and I'd hate for him to go down the same road I did.” Robert dropped his butt on the ice and stomped it out. Sherlock hopped off the railing and helped him to his feet. “Let's get back in there and make sure my children aren't killing each other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GLOSSARY
> 
> Oma: German, “Grandma”; John and Harry's maternal grandmother.
> 
> Minor edit 10/6/2015


	5. Chicago

July 5, 1992

“This is eight-four-one eleven seventy-six. Don't be boring.” _Beep_.

“Sherlock, it's Mycroft. If you're there, I need you to answer the phone. John? Anybody, please pick up. I won't leave this as a message. Are you there? All right, I guess you're actually out. Call me back immediately when you get this, even if it's late. Even if it's the middle of the night. Even if aliens are invading, you need to call me right away.”

 

July 7, 1992

“Ah, it's good to be home. That was the weirdest trip to the Dells.”

Sherlock dumped the bag he was carrying into the middle of the floor and flopped onto the couch with a contented sigh. “I liked the part where we ran through the House on the Rock.”

John giggled, then noticed the answering machine. “Holy shit, we have seventeen messages.”

“For three days?”

“Did somebody die or something?” He pressed play, and they heard Mycroft's voice.

Sherlock jumped up when the first message ended. “Erase the rest of those.” He grabbed the phone off the wall in the kitchen and dialed. “Mycroft, it's me, what happened?”

John looked up to see a frighteningly unfamiliar expression steal over Sherlock's face. “When?” A long pause. “Okay. Um. Okay. I guess … I should come down. Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there as soon as I can.” He glanced across the room at John. “I don't know. I don't know. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day.” He turned to face the wall. “Yeah, I will. Okay.” He hung up gently and leaned heavily against the counter.

John came into the kitchen. “What is it?” When there was no answer, he stepped closer and touched Sherlock's back. “Sherlock, what happened?”

Sherlock turned slowly, eyes downcast and face blank, his whole body sagging. “My mom,” he whispered. “My mom died.”

 

They were on the road early the next morning, with John in the driver seat and Sherlock staring numbly out the window while his coffee got cold. Mycroft met them at his house in Edgewater, and the brothers moved silently around each other, communicating with tiny looks and gestures. John stayed out of the way, for the most part, but he stepped in when he saw Sherlock fading in the early afternoon. It wasn't something he'd ever seen before, and it scared him.

“Hey. You all right?”

Sherlock blinked and shook his head. “No.”

John touched his cheek, feeling the roughness of two days' growth of stubble. “What do you need?”

Sherlock closed his eyes and furrowed his brow. “I … I don't know.”

“I think you need to take a break.”

“No, I can't, I--”

“Hon, you need a break. Take a break.”

He breathed in deeply, and opened his eyes as he let it out. “Okay.”

“Sit down. I'll get you some food.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“You need to eat. Just a snack.”

He didn't argue, and dutifully picked at the apple slices with peanut butter that John prepared. It took him half an hour, but he finished it just as Mycroft came back.

“Good, I see you found the refrigerator.”

Sherlock didn't look up, so John spoke for both of them. “Yeah, hope you don't mind.”

“Not at all.”

“How was the, uh, funeral home?”

“Necessary.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Everything's arranged. Aunt Kasia did most of it.”

“And it's all tasteful?”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, surprised that his brother would speak. “Yes. I think she managed to put their differences aside for once.”

“Good. I can't stand tacky funerals.”

“It's at St. Hedwig's.”

“Okay.”

Mycroft moved closer to John and lowered his voice. “Is he all right?”

“No. I don't think he knows how to react to all of this.”

“He and Mom had a very complicated relationship.”

“I know, I saw a little of it.”

“They loved each other a lot, but they also clashed. They're both … they _were_ both very strong-willed.”

“They were both always convinced they knew best.”

“Exactly.”

“What was it like when your dad passed away?”

Mycroft shook his head. “Completely different. We'd had some warning, so it wasn't a total surprise, not like this. And Mom held it together pretty well for a while, did all the hard stuff. Sherlock was just a kid then.”

They watched Sherlock for another minute, while he stared at his hands where they lay on the kitchen table. Eventually he lifted his head. “You know I can hear you talking about me.”

John smiled sadly and moved to stand behind him, gently massaging his neck and shoulders. “I always assume you can hear everything.”

“I'm not going to the wake this afternoon.”

“That's okay.”

Sherlock leaned his head back against John's belly and closed his eyes.

 

By the time Saturday arrived with the funeral, Sherlock was seeming more himself. He was still quieter than usual, but when he did speak he was sarcastic and often borderline rude, especially to Mycroft, who was getting more frazzled by the minute. John eventually manhandled him outside and made him promise to behave until they went home again. Sherlock sealed the promise with a kiss that almost definitely scandalized Mycroft's neighbors. After that they had a fight when John tried to get Sherlock to put on a tie and jacket for church.

The funeral service was as nice as could be hoped. Sherlock and Mycroft served as pallbearers, and stood solemnly by the graveside in the cemetery while John tried to remain inconspicuous at the back. After the burial everyone descended on Mycroft's house for a potluck, and John wasn't sure he'd ever seen so many crock pots in one place. Sherlock ate a big plate of pierogi, then got fidgety. He cornered John in the kitchen. “I have to get out of here.”

“Okay. Where do you want to go?”

“I don't know. Just … away. The Loop, maybe.”

“Sure, we can do that. Go change out of your suit, I'll tell Mycroft and your Aunt Kasia.”

Sherlock looked overwhelmed with relief, and quickly kissed John's cheek. “Thank you.” He was already unbuttoning his shirt as he disappeared upstairs.

John made their excuses, and the family seemed to understand, though Kasia gave them a significant look when Sherlock reappeared wearing jean shorts and a red Wisconsin tee that was undoubtedly John's.

He changed his clothes quickly, and then let Sherlock take the wheel. They drove south on Lake Shore Drive all the way to the museum campus. Sherlock found a parking spot on the street, then they walked on the path towards the Adler Planetarium.

“Beautiful day,” Sherlock said.

“It is,” John agreed. “Are we going to the planetarium?”

“No, just by the water.”

“Right. I didn't figure you'd be interested in that sort of thing.”

“The Field Museum is more my style.” He took John's hand. “Your mother's maiden name was Adler, wasn't it?”

“Yeah. No relation to this one, I think. Not close, anyway. Oma and Opa came over from Germany in 1932. Mom and Uncle Lars were born after they settled in Ashwaubenon.”

“They weren't Jewish.”

“No, but they were escaping the Nazis. I don't really know much else, they never talked about it.”

“And your dad's family, they're German too?”

“Mostly, yeah. Came over in one of the big immigration waves in the Nineteenth Century and became farmers. Though there were Scots at some point, hence the name.”

“Watson, yes. Not exactly German.”

“What about you?”

“You already know about Mom, third generation Polish, lived in Chicago her whole life. My dad was from out East. Half Pennsylvania Dutch and half English. That's where me and Mycroft got our names, apparently they go way back in the Holmes family over in England.”

“Have you ever visited?”

“Yes, actually. I did a semester in London while I was in college.” He stopped walking and lifted himself up to sit on the concrete ledge that faced north, towards Navy Pier. “What about you? Other than the Army, I mean. Have you traveled much?”

“Not really.” He sat next to Sherlock. “My high school band went on a trip to New York when I was sixteen, and in college I went on trips with the Marching Band. But I never did much on my own, just for fun. I never really felt any desire to leave Wisconsin.”

“Do you think you would?”

“Would what?”

“Leave Wisconsin.”

John looked at him, puzzled. “Why?”

Sherlock gazed at the city to their left. “I've lived in Milwaukee for seven years now, but Chicago's my home. I want to come back.” He turned to John and took his hand. “Will you come with me?”

“That's a big step. Uprooting my life just to be with you?”

His face fell. “I … I understand if you don't want to leave. You've made a life there.”

“I'm not saying that.” John squeezed his hand. “I'll just need to think about it a little before I can give you a definite answer.” He sighed deeply. “If I did decide to stay, would you still move?”

Sherlock bit his lip. “I don't know. Probably. It's always been my plan to come back when Mom died, but I didn't expect it to be so soon. I thought we'd have been together longer before this came up.”

“You've been thinking about our future?”

“As far as I'm concerned, my future _is_ our future. I don't want to have to live my life without you in it.”

“But you would still move down here if I stayed in Milwaukee.”

“It's not that simple. Chicago is my entire past, my home. I've always known it would be my future too. But in the past year, with you, I've been seeing a new future. I'm worried that those two futures won't go together.” He gripped John's hand tightly. “I don't want to have to choose between the two loves of my life. But if it comes to it, I've loved Chicago for almost thirty years, and thirty is a lot more than one.”

John was trying hard to fight back a sudden wave of emotion. “I'm the love of your life?”

Sherlock looked surprised, then smiled slowly. “Yeah.”

He laughed, and a couple of happy tears fell. “Well why didn't you say so, you big dummy?”

“You didn't know?”

“Of course I didn't know, I'm not a mind-reader.”

“Does this change things?”

“It changes everything.” He leaned in and kissed the idiot by his side. “I still want some time to think about it, but if we're in it for the long haul, well.” He grinned. “Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Say the word and I will follow you.”

Sherlock drew a shaky breath and sang the next phrase. “Share each day with me, each night, each morning.”

“Anywhere you go, let me go too.”

Sherlock was suddenly so choked up, the last sentence was barely a whisper. “That's all I ask of you.” John gathered him into a fierce hug, and he let out a little sob of a chuckle. “Did we just get engaged?”

John laughed. The early afternoon sun was shining warmly, the breeze was pleasantly cool, and the city sparkled to match the lake. “I think we did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Thank you so much for reading. I love getting comments and I'd love to know what you thought. Please do let me know if anything is confusing, and I'll do my best to make it clear.
> 
> The song they're quoting at the end is “All I Ask of You” from The Phantom of the Opera.
> 
> There is more coming in this universe, but for now, the last instalment of the
> 
> GLOSSARY
> 
> Dells: The Wisconsin Dells, a small city in central Wisconsin. Known for its water parks and other tourist attractions.
> 
> Field Museum: Natural history museum on the Chicago lakefront. Since 2000 it has been the home of Sue, the largest and most complete T. rex skeleton ever unearthed.
> 
> House on the Rock: An extremely whimsical tourist attraction in Spring Green, Wisconsin. It started as an actual house, and expanded to include several collections of oddities. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_House_on_the_Rock
> 
> Oma and Opa: German, “grandma and grandpa”; John's maternal grandparents.
> 
> Pennsylvania Dutch: A large, loose community of ethnic Germans who settled in Pennsylvania in the 17th and 18th Centuries. Some insular communities still speak a hybrid language. The word “Dutch” originally referred to all Germanic people, not only those from the Netherlands. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pennsylvania_Dutch
> 
> Pierogi: Polish dumplings, usually filled with potatoes and cheese and served with fried onions.
> 
> St. Hedwig's: One of the monumental Polish Catholic churches in Chicago.
> 
> LOCATIONS  
> Wisconsin:  
> Ashwaubenon  
> Wisconsin Dells
> 
> Chicago:  
> Edgewater  
> Lake Shore Drive  
> The Loop  
> Museum Campus  
> Navy Pier


End file.
